


Drabbles and Other Nonsense

by brialavellan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brialavellan/pseuds/brialavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and various pieces I wrote that don't really relate to anything.</p><p>ALL tags and trigger warnings are posted in the notes at the beginning of each drabble, so you can skip something if the contents might bother you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Femslash February - A little practice in the training yard goes differently than usual
> 
> Fem Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast  
> Bisexual Cassandra  
> 'Manehn Lavellan (OC)/Cassandra

The Inquisitor parries the blow, but the Seeker holds her shield firm. A bash to the chest and ‘Manehn falls, flailing. Cassandra stands firm, tall, taut, glistening, glittering as the sun rises over the mountains.  The sun is shines behind her, forms a halo of radiance that frames her angular jaw and caresses her broad shoulders. She stands proud, a small victorious smirk.

“Is that all?”

‘Manehn rolls to the side, and she sees the opening. Narrow, dangerous, a dirty trick – high risk but high reward. She slinks between her legs and trips her. Cassandra loses her balance and the shield falls, clatters to the ground. She tries to recover, but ‘Manehn is already on her chest, a blunted blade made of cold steel tingling at her jugular. Her chest heaves, sweat streaking down her dark face. She matches her earlier smirk.

“Are we done?”

But ‘Manehn lingers, her breathing steady, slowing. Cassandra does not protest. ‘Manehn leans forward, her arms placed beside her head, for balance. Cassandra’s eyes soften, a smile spreading. ‘Manehn leans forward, and she takes Cassandra face into her hands, tracing her jawline, her eyes alight with awe. Their eyes meet, a soft sultry glance that lasts only a second before they kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little taste of what goes on in 'Manehn's head and what she experiences when she goes in the cities to trade on behalf of the clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for fetishization, racism, implied intent to rape, objectification
> 
> Fem Lavellan  
> 'Manehn Lavellan (OC)  
> Pre-Dragon Age Inquisition

The woman say “rabbit” like a songbird, cooing softly, clicking their tongues, a whistle to call over a dog. How cute, how sweet, a party trick to entertain. Her cheeks burn, not enough for them to notice, but she brushes it off, pushes it down, forces a smile, suffers the small indignities so the clan will have coin. She plays the part, and the noblewomen pay for the pleasure of watching her performance, a charming diversion while they peruse the marketplace. Charming, genteel, lovely girl, if only without those Dalish tattoos, pointed ears, Rivaini skin, and everything else that she is. If only they could strip away the pieces they hate and fear, then they could dignify speaking to her on equal ground.

* * *

 

When the men say it, it dribbles from their mouth, hungry, wanting, savoring the sight, eyes darting, wide, demanding to feed, consume, prey on, something new and different to savor. They toss a coin, eyes cast downward, licking their lips, waiting to hear her price. They ask questions about the merchandise. Is it like chocolate, sweet, soft, demure, melting in their hands? Or will it fight, is it feisty, does it have a bite, strong like spiced tea and cloves? Her face turns flush and her lips tremble, but she can keep a smile and a hand on her dagger, steady, careful, towing the line but careful not to lead them on. When the market closes, she takes her goods and walks a different way, a wider street with some guards for the illusion of protection beyond a dagger on her belt. The men try to buy her, but they will not hesitate to take what they want for free.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nightmare in the Fade teases 'Manehn Lavellan with some memories that haunt her worse than what happened at the Conclave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for implied death
> 
> Female Lavellan  
> 'Manehn Lavellan (OC)  
> Nightmare Demon  
> During "Here Lies the Abyss" (DA:I)

A snarling voice, cackling, her deepest fears spoken, realized, laid bare.

She remembers.

Small hands and inquisitive brown eyes that searched for the sound of her voice, babbling and squealing with delight. Unsteady legs that wobbled towards her, half falling into her arms. A child with boundless energy zipping around the aravels, pulling at her shirt imploring her big sister to play with her. An impish smile and a scholar’s mind and a subtle wit. Too smart for her own good. Just like her big sister.

She wants to grow up and be just like her, she would say. “One day, you’ll teach me everything.”

One day. She would teach her everything. She would protect her.

She remembers the screams when Haven was attacked. Fire and blood, burned flesh.

She would protect them all.

She closed her eyes and saw her sister’s face, streaked with tears.

She has failed them all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little writing exercise and prompt I came up with for myself.
> 
> Prompt: How would your Inquisitor and LI argue?
> 
> Featured Relationships:
> 
> OC Lavellan ('Manehn) x Solas  
> OC Trevelyan (Adelaide) x Iron Bull  
> Oc Adaar (Kata) x Josephine

'Manehn and Solas

Rage and Pride are a potent combination. Their screaming spooks the birds. It’s not purely the volume, but the passion behind their voices. Every word is somehow an insult, trading jab after jab, a duel of words that echos throughout the castle. Occasionally it lowers to a whisper in a tight space. This is true danger, because one slip of the tongue could drive deep into the other’s chest. 

Usually, they stop sparring before it comes to that point. Sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes it’s ‘Manehn, sometimes it’s Solas. Every time, the fight stops and ‘Manehn either storms off or Solas hisses at her to leave. But ‘Manehn will return. Or Solas will eventually follow her. They go to their lover, with an apology and a little cake and a promise to do better next time. 

* * *

Adelaide and Iron Bull

To outsiders, it looks like a small child throwing a temper tantrum and a calm adult explaining why they can’t fulfill an unreasonable request. It doesn’t help that Adelaide is so short compared to the Iron Bull. You would also think the someone would normally be terrified at the potential of pissing off a Qunari, but Adelaide doesn’t care. Maker’s tits, she is furious, and you are going to hear about it. She’s held in her words, bit her tongue, danced to the tune of the Trevelyans and the Templars for so long that when she has a chance to speak her mind, she speaks her mind about everything and anything. Things that were mild annoyances are elevated to treasonous offenses. 

Bull knows all of these things, and that’s why he doesn’t say much, he lets her keep going until she burns out. He keeps his tone even, his thoughts calm, until she starts to glow with magic. Then he backs away, a flicker of fear in his eyes. She turns around, and sees he’s spooked. A deep breath, and the glow is gone. She apologizes, because she was taught to stay calm, collected, and disciplined. She is still angry, she still disagrees, but she grabs a chair, sits down, and steeples her fingers. She’s said her piece, she wants to hear his rebuttal.

* * *

Josephine and Kata

Do Josephine and Kata even argue? Yes. They do. It’s rare, but there are times when patience and reason fail even the Inquisition’s chief ambassador and diplomat. Kata keeps her head down, scolded like a small puppy, as Josephine lays out, point by point, exactly how wrong the Inquisitor is about every single thing they have said. Kata could try to get her word in, but it would be pointless. 

So she starts with snark. It’s childish, an old holdover from a time before she was Saarebas. She capitulates to every request, enthusiastically extolling the praises of Josephine’s logic over the silly and stupid Vashoth who knows nothing in comparison. It makes Josephine angrier, and she snaps at Kata, for treating her like a child and refusing to take her seriously. Kata stops, and she hangs her head again. Genuinely, this time. It’s a terrible habit, and she needs to stop. She tells Josephine to continue, but this time, Josephine brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, and says no. She asks Kata to explain her side first. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I’m testing this thing when my Lavellan Inqusitor basically answers this question:
> 
> “Isn’t starting a “glowing green hand” cult that routinely violates Fereldan and Orlesian national sovereignty going to go to the Inquisitor’s head and make her a villain (depending on how much you sympathize with elves)?”
> 
> With a resounding “Hell yea!”
> 
> This is a draft/preview thing. Less than 350 words. Set 20-ish years after DA:I. Cassandra is Divine. Fem Lavellan Inquisitor (non-believer).

“It is my understanding that you demand an audience to resolve a petty political matter raised by the Empress of Orlais.”

Divine Victoria stands before her, clad in formal armor with the Sunburst emblazoned on her chest. Though the armor gleams as rays of sunlight from stained glass windows bounce off the steel, it is her stern gaze and the visceral distaste lingering on her lips that cow the Grand Cleric. It is only for a moment. The former Seeker always had little patience for the Great Game and their dances, but she knows their steps.

However, her words are a small opening, as predictable as it is brash. Grand Cleric Joyce immediately launches into her speech. A bold opening requires a quick side-step. She shifts slightly in her chair.

“Your Perfection, I would not trouble you with petty political matters. This is a question of threats to the Faith.”

A derisive snort takes the Grand Cleric off-guard.

“A threat to the Chantry, you mean. You expect the woman who left the Chantry not even 20 years ago to form a ‘heretical movement’ to be concerned about one sniveling Grand Cleric’s ‘concern’ about pointy ears in priest robes? Andraste and the Maker will not be your political bludgeons to resolve your disagreements with the elves. I will not allow it.”

The Grand Cleric rises from the chair and begins to depart. She doesn’t need to engage in a dialogue. She only needs her last words to linger. 

“I am only concerned about one particular set of pointy ears using the Maker’s name to avenge past wrongs by stealing land from sovereign nations.” She goes to open the door, her fingers resting briefly on the cool crystal latch. “And if you were not concerned about her, you would not have even wasted your breath on me….Most Holy.”

The Grand Cleric turns to face the Divine again. Her sneer has softened. “I will talk to Inquisitor Lavellan. She is not an unreasonable woman.”

The Grand Cleric departs with a simple platitude. “I never suggested she was unreasonable. I only suggest that she is being….overzealous.”

The words catch.

“I will talk to her.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Manehn's reaction when she arrives at the Temple of Mythal

It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Every abandoned corner and ancient elven ruin she scoured for the Keeper only revealed the echoes of what the Elvhen had lost. At best, she would find a lonely trinket ground into the mud, with ancient bloodstains from battles fought long ago.

But this?

In this temple, small statues of Mythal littered the ground. In this temple were giant murals dedicated to the pantheon that glistened when touched by an errant ray of sun. There were ancient Elvish carvings on large stone tablets and small metal plaques waiting to be translated and tell the story of this temple and her people.

She heard the battle outside, loud booms and metal clanking, the cries of humans clashing with swords and magic, some falling, some still standing. Nothing but more humans fighting a war on the bones of her people, outside of a temple dedicated to her gods, blasting their way through sacred ground. 

That’s how humans have always been: blundering and battling their way through Thedas, across the ages, trampling elves by taking their blood, their gods, and their lore. 

What hurts most is that she’s the one who now leads them.

She readies her bow and aims. 

This place will not fall as long as she still breathes.

Never again will she submit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was practicing with streams of consciousness, trying to sort of imitate what Cole would “feel” when he sensed my main three Inquisitors. I think I did ok, so I’m not too, too, too self-concious about putting it up. Always appreciate some feedback and questions, of course.

_('Manehn Lavellan)_

“The Dalish forgot, you forgot, how could you forget, do you not remember us, lethallan? Where is your vallaslin, da’len, are you not one of us? She is not. Cruel markings, crueler words, ‘You are NOT my people’. She is bare-faced, like a child. Too trusting, too loving, she doesn’t want to care anymore. She begs him not to care too, calls him cold-hearted. But she can’t move on, when all her failings are written across her blank face. She cannot carry the clan while the humans still have her.”

* * *

 

_(Adelaide Trevelyan)_

“Wisps of the Fade twirl around her fingers like long legs in dancing slippers. She flies across the ballroom, voice like the songbirds that flutter outside her window, the ones she can’t follow. She plucks the harp, pulling strings that turn the key, unlocks the gilded cage so she can fly away. Until the magic came. Cold father with a hard hand, blood dripping down her dress, ‘Call the Templars! Get this thing out of my house!’ And the songbird is strangled, stuffed into another cage, locked away. Her song is sad. Would the Maker hear her cry?”

* * *

 

_(Kata Adaar)_

“She sings the Chant, but it sticks in her throat. An ox girl hiding behind a Chantry sister’s robes. The other orphans torment her, tease her. Some Chantry sisters help and some do not. Some want to cut her horns, tie her down like Tama and Baba. Broken by Ben Hassrath because they would not bend. She wants to sing, the flame flickers, but she cannot find faith. She begs the Maker turn his gaze, see her suffering, see his creation. She looks for Faith and finds the Fade, shapes it, makes it bend, brings it to this world. She flees before the templars come, flees to fight. She will not be yoked, she will not be reined in.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lil drabble about my Warden OC, Fiona Cousland
> 
> TW for mentions of fire, I don't know if that is a common trigger but better safe than sorry.
> 
> Also tw for mentions of blood, death.

Fiona Cousland seems cold, at first glance. Standoffish, at best, with a stony face to match that regal bearing that makes her seem untouchable.

“Seems” being the operative word here.

Because there is a fire in her that always threatens to break through the little cracks in her skin, the scars from countless battles that wear and tear the flesh and the soul, sundering it a little more each time she must face the most heinous of foes.

A fire ignited when she found her father bleeding on the pantry floor, when she begged her mother to come with her but she remained, resolute and ready to fight to her inevitably bitter end.

This fire has been stoked and fed, at Ostagar, at Denerim and Orzammar.

In the Deep Roads and in Redcliffe.

And though it always threatens to engulf her, to consume her until nothing remains, she still stands, regal, prideful, and unbreakable.

And she has found some comfort in the company of those who love her - her brother, her king, her comrades-in-arms, and her people.

Because when the Calling finally comes, the one she now fights to stave off, the looming specter that casts a long shadow over the throne and the Kingdom, she will not go quietly. She will fight to her last bitter breath.

For them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a throwaway drabble with my Inquisitor and Mirwen that was lurking in my drafts.
> 
> Mirwen is ‘Manehn’s daughter 
> 
> Davhalla is another OC - introduced in Vir Suledin and she’ll have a more prominent role in the next one I'm trying to finish.
> 
> Set approx 16 years post-Trespasser.

Mirwen always saw it, caught it, saved the moment to memory.

A flicker, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment where ‘Manehn froze when Mirwen brought a simple spirit across the Veil. When she spoke of traversing the Beyond. When she spoke of dreaming.

It was out of place, out of character, everyone around her claimed. A figment of her imagination. 

Her mother was incredibly tolerant of magic.

“Too tolerant, in fact,” Victoria or Vivienne would say, with stony faces and a heavy sigh. But they were both shemlen comforted by pointless restrictions.

“She’s Dalish, da’len, she wouldn’t be afraid,” is all Davhalla would say, with a laugh and a shrug. And it was a tired truism that Davhalla consistently fell back on, one that perpetually left Mirwen unsatisfied.

Maybe she didn’t fear Mirwen. Maybe it was a flashback, a memory, a trigger that teleported her to a time before she was stripped bare and re-marked and reshaped.

Before Savior of Orlais. Before “former” Inquisitor.

She couldn’t know. An elven Right Hand with Elgar’nan’s vallaslin that curled menacingly around tired, world-weary eyes was the only ‘Manehn she knew. She was the only ‘Manehn that Davhalla and Briala knew, despite both of their claims to the contrary.

That was the only ‘Manehn that anyone with any chance to give a satisfactory answer to Mirwen’s question knew.

‘Manehn eventually gave her the answer.

Not a straight answer, of course. ‘Manehn never gave her a straight answer. Her mother would never, of her own volition, tear down the carefully crafted web of lies that took the shape of Mirwen’s gilded cage. 

They were fighting. About Mirwen’s role, about her limitations, about her involvement…. 

And Mirwen snapped. She started on a vicious tirade, every repressed emotion spilling forth, weaponized into harsh jabs at ‘Manehn’s every mistake and every failure, boiling over until Mirwen had no more words, only hot tears streaming down flushed cheeks.

‘Manehn froze, rendered speechless, and stared at Mirwen.

And Mirwen finally saw.

It wasn’t fear. 

It was anger. Sort of. Not at Mirwen. Mirwen knew her mother’s anger. This was older, sharper, honed to a fine edge. Anger inhibited her mother, clouding her judgment, made her reckless, but this…..

This was regret.


End file.
